Joyé Ishvalï
by shattered petal
Summary: It was one day during the Winter period on the Amestrian calendar. And even if she wouldn't recognise it, Miles wanted to celebrate the day a little with her. -Slight LivMiles/Christmas oneshot


**author's note**: I'm almost certain there is no such thing as Christmas in Amestris, as that day associates with religion. I am aware there was something happening in Loki but that seemed recent, and very isolated. However Ishval is very religious, so I decided to write this short oneshot in celebration of Christmas.  
So. Merry Christmas! Hope it's a good one.

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**Title**: Joyé Ishvalï  
**Genre**: Friendship  
**Rating**: K  
**Couple**: Slight LivMiles

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There was no such thing as "Winter" in Ishval. The land was always bright, warm and sunny. The term "Winter" sounded blue, cold and lonely. Very unlike how an Ishvalan preached and worshipped. For an Ishvalan, they worshipped to be happy, and they kept their minds optimistic, even during periods of peril.

According to the Ishvalan faith, this mood of happiness was offered by their God, Ishvala, and the only way to continually possess it is by sharing said happiness with others. It sounded simple, and Utopian. Naive, too. Which was one of the main reasons why Miles found it difficult to preach the Ishvalan religion, especially after how he was treated as a child and now.

Yet if there was anything that was good out of religion, it would have to be the celebrations that took place. Miles' favourite was during the "Winter" period of the Amestrian calendar. Near the end of December: a date when Ishvalans would come together and share food, be with friends and family, and pass gifts to one another all for their one God.

Miles found the whole ordeal cheesy, and never mentioned it to his fellow soldiers. Why would he? They would probably laugh at him and then continue their business. In all honesty, Miles did think the occasion was stupid, but he unfortunately didn't experience such a tight-knit community. As a child, he wasn't welcomed by both the Amestrian and Ishvalan race.

This year, though, curiosity got the better of him.

Despite only knowing his commanding officer for a couple of years, he knew her pretty well. Olivier was awfully secretive, always wearing a cold mask, and refusing to let a single emotion spill. In a way, Miles could relate to her stoic attitude- heck, it was how he survived.

But even the most stoic deserved something nice.

Of course none of the Bears knew or acknowledged the day, except Miles. Wrapping a gift in paper without any of the soldiers knowing was tricky but he managed to do it, hiding the present beneath his bunk. When the day approached, he first decided to attend to his duties. Best have everything done.

Unfortunately, by the time Miles was done, the day had nearly finished. He could imagine what was happening in Ishval - or those who still remained. Even after a War, they would still celebrate this very special day. And Miles admired that. So there was no reason for him to not celebrate it either, even when the day was almost over.

Snatching his present, Miles quickly proceeded for Olivier's office, his heart pounding against his ribcage. He didn't have anything to lose. It would be absurd for Olivier to punish him for offering her a gift out of respect. Out of everyone he knew, Olivier would be the most tolerant of differing religions.

Miles knocked on the door. 'Major Miles. May I enter?'

'You may,' a voice said, distracted.

Entering inside, Miles closed the door behind him and stepped over to Olivier's desk. Not to his surprise she was busy with paperwork, and when she realised Miles wasn't speaking, she reluctantly turned her attention to him.

Miles smiled a little awkwardly, and revealed the present.

'Joyé Ishvalï, ma'am.'

He was expecting her to frown at him, then ask what he meant. However, Olivier simply raised a brow at him.

'I thought you had forgotten, Miles.' She took the gift from him, then snorted. 'The shape of the present gives it away.'

It wasn't his fault North City only sold alcohol. 'I noticed you're fond of whiskey.'

Impressed he knew such a thing, Olivier removed the wrapping paper, and studied the label stuck to the front. 'Ah, "Rough Winds". That's my favourite.'

'I know, ma'am.'

Placing the bottle of whiskey aside, Olivier paused for a moment, and seemed to hesitate with her words. After a moment she finally spoke: 'Thank you.'

Saluting, Miles allowed a smile, before swivelling around on his heel to leave.

'Hold on. I didn't give you permission to depart.'

Worried he had landed in trouble, Miles quickly turned back to face her, expecting a good scolding or a chilling glare. Yet Olivier gave him none of those. Instead she opened her desk drawer, and retrieved something from within.

A present.

Miles' ears burned.

Taking the box-shaped present, he took a step back.

'Now go away.' This time, he spotted the slightest hint of a smile, and he left the room, feeling relieved but also proud of himself.

Early that morning when the lights were off in his dorm, and those in the room were sleeping, he lit a candle and torn away at the wrapping paper. Indeed it was a wooden box, its surface shiny and smooth. This had been expensive.

Opening the box, he recognised the gift at once. Even in the dim light, Miles registered the weapon- a small, yet powerful device. A Desert-Eagle MK Hand Canon. An insanely powerful gun, and one he was very fond of.

After inspecting his gift for a good couple of minutes, Miles soon realised there was a little letter inside the box.

_Finally.  
Joyé Ishvalï._  
_— Armstrong. _


End file.
